


The Things We Can Remake

by hoosierbitch



Series: sneakers and sheriff badges [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Kid!Fic, Queer Character, Schmoop, light-up sneakers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal's babysitter calls up sick, Peter's got no choice but to bring Neal in to work with him. (In which Neal listens to 'Baby Beluga,' makes origami squirrels, and doesn't eat lunch.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Can Remake

**Author's Note:**

> Content Advisory: References to child neglect and abuse.
> 
> Notes: This was written for run_the_con! The prompt I got from doctor_fangeek was “Daybreak.” Thanks for setting this up, embroiderama!
> 
> Thanks: To ivorysilk, for letting me take over her couch and bunny and coffee maker while writing this. Also, thanks to her rabbit Stu, for being adorable.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when their phone rang. Peter sat bolt upright and grabbed his gun, ready to jump out of bed and protect his hearth and home from the sonic intrusion.

El flapped an arm vaguely at him and he traded his firearm for the handset.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Burke? This is Kari. Your babysitter?”

“Yes, Kari, I know who you are.”

“Good, I, um, thank you. Um.”

He paused. “Why are you calling me? You're not supposed to be here for another hour and a half.”

“I'm sick,” she said, sounding scared. She was slightly afraid of him, but way more afraid of Elizabeth, who'd conducted the interviews with their potential caretakers. It usually took people a little while to figure out that Elizabeth was the real threat between the two of them, but Kari had clued right in; it's one of the reasons that Peter had liked her so much. “I'm so sorry, but I woke up puking, and I would hate to get Neal sick, especially now that he's getting the hang of school—”

“It's okay,” Peter said, trying to convince them both. “We'll figure something out.”

*

 

 

The problem is that it was a Teachers' Day, where the public schools let out for a day to give the schools time to do in-house training and meetings. It left all of the parents in the district scrambling to find childcare on a Thursday. He and Elizabeth had been so smug, having locked down their sitter weeks ago. Now, 6:45am, and they had no one.

“I can't stay home,” Peter was saying, struggling into his pants and trying to brush his hair at the same time. “We're finishing up the Yolen case today, and I have to be there, or the judge is going to extend the submission window by a month!”

“Well I've got a _wedding_ ,” Elizabeth hissed, “with three-hundred rich, snotty, picky New Yorkers, who will drag my name through the dirt and then spit on it for good measure should every detail of this thing not be _perfect_. I swear, the mother-in-law is a harpy in disguise. Only without the disguise.”

“What are we going to do with him?”

She sat down heavily on the bed and he finished buttoning his shirt and joined her. They'd called everyone they could think of who they trusted with Neal's care, but to no avail. All of the childcare places were full-up, everyone Peter knew was also going to be in the office or was on assignment, June was out of town, and thoughts of Mozzie taking Neal on a heist with him as a distraction took his name right off the table.

“I can't bring him with me,” Elizabeth said. “Is there any way—any way at all—that you can bring him to the office for a day?”

“I guess. We don't really have a choice, do we?”

*

 

 

Neal hugged his stuffed dog, Satchmo the Second, to his chest and slipped away down the hallway. He'd gotten himself dressed this morning and brushed his teeth and gotten out his painting supplies and favorite books so that Peter and Elizabeth would see that he wouldn't give Kari any problems. He knew they paid her a lot of money; he'd seen the cash exchanging hands. He didn't want to make himself any more of a burden than he already was.

But something must have gone wrong. Kari wasn't coming to watch him, and school wasn't happenign, even though it was a weekday. Peter and Elizabeth wouldn't let him stay home alone (even though he's done it tons of times before when his mom and Ellen were busy).

He got out his backpack and put in a skechpad, his watercolors, the books he'd gotten out to read with Kari (the words were all small, but he could sound them out all on his own), and a granola bar that he'd pocketed from snack day once at school. He didn't know if Peter would be able fit Neal's lunch into his workday, and Neal had gotten used to being full.

He looked at Satchmo the Second, fluffy and golden and still clean and whole, and put him back on the bed. Satchmo was too big to hide. Instead, he decided to take Pablo, the blue mouse Uncle Moz had given him, and tucked him away in the very bottom of his bookbag. (He was allowed to bring his books and paints to school, but Peter and Elizabeth had never said anything about his toys; he didn't want them to think he was stealing. He didn't want them to know he was like a baby who needed something soft to hold onto when he got scared.)

He was all packed up by the time Peter came to his door. “You're ready to go,” Peter said, frowning at his packed bag. “Did you forget it's not a school day?”

“Yeah,” Neal said. He didn't want Peter to know that Neal had been listening outside his door. “I did.”

“Well, it's your lucky day,” Peter said. “You get to come to work with me, because Kari's sick. Do you have enough stuff to keep you entertained?” Neal nodded. “Alright. Let's grab a bagel and eat on the way. We've really got to hurry, buddy, we don't have a lot of time.”

Neal grabbed his bag, glancing back at Satchmo the Second in apology for leaving him behind, and followed Peter downstairs.

*

 

 

Neal was quiet on their drive into the office. It wasn't terribly unusual for him. Peter often felt like he needed to catalog the various moods of Neal like separate aliases: the lively, bouncy child who had baked cookies and braided small chunks of Satchmo's hair; the quiet, withdrawn boy that Peter left at school every morning; the frightened child who cowered away from Peter whenever he did the littlest thing wrong.

There were a lot of things that Peter loved about his Taurus—he sometimes felt like a walking commercial for it—but the fact that his phone conversations were now all perfectly audible to his traveling companion was turning out to be less than ideal.

“Don't give me details on Yolen's extracurriculars,” he said hastily, interrupting Jones' train of thought. “I've got a six-year-old in the car.”

“...should I come up with a codeword?” Peter wasn't sure what codeword Jones would think of for prostitute, and didn't want to find out.

“What? No—oh, for Christ's sake, I'll be there in twenty minutes. Keep brainstorming til I get there.”

He could hear the noise of the office in the background before Jones hung up his phone. He glanced over at Neal and swore to himself. “You okay, buddy?”

Neal looked over at him and faked a smile. “Yeah.” Neal had plastered himself against the door of the car and was clutching his backpack to his chest. “I can put my hands over my ears,” Neal added a second later. “You can call back Mr. Jones, I won't hear anything.”

“I know kiddo, but it's—it's work stuff. You'd be bored anyway.”

Neal nodded and stared out the window.

It was going to be a long day.

*

 

 

Neal was going to be the quietest kid who ever lived. Peter had led Neal through his office—holding his hand, which Neal was too old for (nearly six-and-a-half), but which he didn't protest—and settled him on a chair in his office. Neal spread out his sketchpad and realized he'd need a glass of water to use his watercolors. He decided to just use his pencil and maybe ask for water at lunchtime.

“Neal? Do you need anything?” Neal looked down at his paper and shook his head. “Are you thirsty?” Headshake. “Hungry?” Another one. “Tired?” Neal stared at him. “Ok, fine. Let me know if you need anything, but otherwise, just try and be quiet and have fun. Sound like a plan?”

“It's a plan, Stan,” Neal replied. It was something Elizabeth said a lot. Peter just nodded and didn't smile or laugh.

Neal had always known Peter was important, but he hadn't realized _how_ important. He didn't just have a desk at work, he had a whole _office_ , high up where he could look out of his glass walls and look at everyone else working below him. Neal could see Jones and Diana. He waved at them, but they didn't see him, which was probably good, because Neal wasn't supposed to make a nuisance of himself. His mom had said that children should be seen and not heard, and Ellen had agreed, but Neal knew that it was safer if you weren't seen, either.

Peter's phone rang a lot, and most times Peter ended up taking the phone with him out into the hallway because he didn't want Neal to listen. Twice people came in to talk to Peter and Peter had to go down the hallway with them, leaving Neal on his own.

He felt itchy and nervous and trapped, sitting in a glass room where he wasn't supposed to be, getting in everyone's way. He drew lots of pictures of Satchmo, and one of Babar the elephant, and he started to draw a picture of his family for a school assignment—himself and his mom—but then stopped, because his family was sort of weird these days. Ellen was part of his family, but not really, and maybe he should draw his dad on the top of the paper, in a cloud in heaven, and maybe on the back of the paper he could put Peter and Elizabeth and Satchmo, because your family is supposed to be the people who love you and take care of you.

He folded that paper up and stuck it in his bag to finish later when he had his watercolors. He would just draw a fake family, mom and dad and Neal all together and happy, so there wouldn't be any questions.

*

 

 

For lunch Peter took Neal down to the cafeteria. He hadn't had time to pack a lunch for them, and he didn't want to bring Neal out of the building and into the midday rush of people crammed into every deli and cafe in a five-block radius like a bunch of Gucci-clad sardines.

In the cafeteria he got a tray and gave another one to Neal, who carried it with the look of concentration that made Peter get a disjointed double-vision of the adult Neal, attention fixed on some fascinating new puzzle. The fact that this Neal, this tiny Neal in a Batman t-shirt and purple light-up sneakers, was concentrating so hard on carrying his tray because Peter told him to keep it steady—it madeP eter worry.

He piled pizza, a hotdog, jello, chocolate milk, and a plateful of cookies onto Neal's tray. He added a banana as an afterthought. “They usually have mac and cheese,” he muttered, looking around. “I can ask someone...”

“I'm good,” Neal replied. Peter glanced over at him.

“I guess you do have a lot of food.”

“Yes,” Neal said. “Thank you. It looks very good.” Peter looked at his own tray, which was mostly empty, and hastily piled on a salad and a hamburger. And some coffee. And then another cup of coffee. It wasn't an easy thing, having a six-year-old in your office while you were trying to make a case against a human trafficker; he could use the pick-me-up.

Peter paid for their meals (Neal leaning against his leg and saying _thank you_ too many times as he waited for his receipt) and led them to a table. Peter had just opened Neal's carton of chocolate milk for him when Donna from HR, Jerry from legal, and Marsha from security come over to their table and starting fussing over Neal.

“And who are you, cutie?”

Neal glanced from Marsha's beaming face, to Peter, and back. “Neal,” he said quietly.

“Oh, right! There was that...” Marsha's voice died out.

“Incident,” Peter supplied.

“Right, the incident. Well, Neal, are you having fun staying with Mr. Peter and Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You have such lovely manners!”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

Within minutes their table was crowded with people, all fussing over Neal and his nice manners and handsome face and cute smile. Peter'd seen the phenomenon occur before, whenever someone had to bring their child into the office for the day, but he'd never found himself in the middle of the cooing storm.

When Peter's phone rang—it was the assistant district attorney, who Peter'd been hunting down for days—he left Neal in Donna's capable hands and stepped out into the hallway. Donna had seven grandchildren of her own (Peter'd seen more pictures of them than he'd care to think about) and was one of the warmest people Peter had ever met; he felt more confident in her parenting skills than his own.

*

 

 

The good news was that Neal hadn't needed to eat his granola bar. The bad news is that he was surrounded by people he didn't know and Peter had just left him.

He put his hands under the table and clasped them tight so that he wouldn't risk knocking into anything. He made sure not to look down for too long, since that made some adults treat him funny. If his stomach didn't feel so bad, he'd be eating, since his tray was full of food that the teacher at school said you shouldn't eat all at once.

“What is this, bring your muppet to work day?” Neal froze. “I had no idea, or I'd have brought in my Tickle Me Elmo!”

Donna, who smelled like old flowers and and who kept ruffling Neal's hair (even though he had brushed it very carefully that morning), glared at the man who had just walked up to their table. “James, no one here has time for your sh—your stuff.”

“I didn't mean to crash the party. I just wanted to say hi to our favorite felon-in-training.”

Neal, who knew that James had to be talking about him, even though he wasn't quite sure what he was saying or why he was so mad, tried not to move, or breathe, or exist. “If you don't want to be reported to Burke for insubordination and—and—violation of departmental interpersonal conduct codes, then you better get a move on,” Donna said hotly.

“Keep your panties on. I'm leaving. Have a nice day, Mini Me. Try not to steal anything.”

Neal's breath caught in his throat and his whole body went hot and then cold. He should tell Peter about the granola bar. And about Pablo the blue mouse in the bottom of his bookbag. And he should thank Peter again for buying him lunch and letting him stay in Peter's office, even though he would have been fine at home by himself.

“I'm sorry,” he said. The noise around him quieted for a second and then burst up again. He closed his eyes and ignored it, even though he knew it was rude.

Peter's hand landed on his shoulder and it took him a second to remember where he was and whether or not he was safe (and then whether or not Peter was safe).

“Aren't you hungry?” Peter asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Did the food not taste good? I can ask about the mac and cheese—”

“I want to go back to your office,” Neal said quickly. “I want to finish my drawing. Can we go now?” Peter frowned, but didn't disagree. They said goodbye to everyone—Donna messed up his hair again and Marsha kissed his cheek—and Peter held his hand again to lead him out.

*

 

 

Something had happened during lunch. Unfortunately, that thing wasn't Neal eating his food. He could hear the kid's stomach grumbling from across the desk. “I'll be right back.” He ran out to the vending machine and got some chips and chocolate. Neal devoured everything Peter gave him, fastidiously collecting all the crumbs and folding the wrappers before throwing them away.

Peter wasn't getting much work done, and he had no idea what to do with Neal, who was drawing at a snail's pace and hunching in his chair like he was afraid of the walls, so Hughes bursting into his office actually came as a pleasant interruption for once.

“Burke, your team's running around out there like a barnyard full of headless chickens. Why aren't you out there?” Peter looked over at Neal, who shrank. “What?”

“His babysitter's sick, sir.”

“And?”

“And Elizabeth's busy, so I need to watch him.”

“Peter, you go oversee your team. Neal, collect your stuff and come with me.”

Peter knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Reece had three daughters and a couple of grandchildren, but somehow the thought of Reece actually interacting with a child had never crossed his mind. He just couldn't picture it. From the way Neal was staring at Reece like a deer in the headlights, he couldn't either. “Uh—I can handle it, sir. I wouldn't want to interrupt your day.”

“Nonsense. Learn how to delegate. Neal, let's go.” Neal looked at Peter with wide, round eyes, and Peter shrugged helplessly.

“You'll be just down the hall, kiddo. You can come get me if you need me. Reece is a really nice guy, okay? I promise. You'll have a good time. I'll check on you a lot.”

“I'm not taking him to Burma, Burke, get a hold of yourself.” Reece turned to Neal. “I've got a whole new pack of origami paper to use up. Come help me out.”

Neal, still looking to Peter to rescue him, grabbed his backpack from the corner of the room and trailed after Reece.

Peter, worried about his ward but nonetheless relieved to actually be able to work, ran into the bullpen to go over the latest reports with Jones and Diana. With any luck they'd be able to wrap this up soon, and he could take Neal home before he was permanently damaged.

*

 

 

At first he checked on Neal every couple of minutes. The kid seemed okay—he was folding an army of origami cranes on the floor of Reece's office in an array of different colors, patterns, and sizes. He seemed happy enough. He wasn't crying, in any case, or trying to break the glass walls to get out. But then the assistant district attorney actually showed up in person, and Peter had to forcefully escort the man to the interview room, and an hour and a half passed without him noticing.

He turned the ADA over to Jones and ran back to his floor. He was panicked and out of breath by the time he got to Hughes' office, so it took him a moment to process what he was hearing when he opened the door. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Hello, sir.”

“Hello, Agent Burke. How's the case coming along?”

“We're making great progress. We'll be wrapped up by the end of the day.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Uh, sir?”

“Yes?”

“...are you listening to Raffi?”

“'Baby Beluga' is Mr. Hughes' favorite song,” piped up Neal from his corner, where he'd created a menagerie of paper animals. “But I still like 'Bananaphone' best. So we listened to them both and got to sing along.”

“You...you have Raffi on your computer, sir?”

“I made a YouTube playlist.” Peter stared at Hughes as the opening strains of 'Down by the Bay' started playing. “Neal, why don't you show Peter what you made?”

Peter, who still felt like he'd stumbled into an alternate dimension, was happy to turn his attention to Neal and the piles of folded paper around him. Apparently he'd given up on the easy-to-follow patterns pretty quickly and moved on to creating designs of his own. He was pretty good, too.

“So you're having fun?”

“Yeah,” Neal said, fingers tracing over the crisp folds of his third attempt at making a squirrel. “I mean—not as much fun as I had with you,” he added quickly, creasing the squirrel between nervous fingers. “But Mr. Hughes said you were busy and so it was okay—”

“I'm glad you're having fun,” Peter interrupted, rescuing the sweat-damp squirrel. “Even though this can't be as much fun as spending the day at home with Kari. You're being a good sport.”

“I like coming to work with you,” Neal said quietly, risking a glance at Hughes, who was studiously ignoring them. “It's—I mean—I know I'm not supposed to be here,” he mumbled. “I've tried to be real quiet.”

Peter put the squirrel down, gently put his hands on Neal's shoulders (he was still careful every time he touched Neal; the memory of Neal flinching away from him wasn't something he'd ever forget), and turned the boy towards him.

“I'm glad you're here,” he said. “Most kids wouldn't be nearly as much fun as you. I like having you around.”

*

 

 

When he came back into the office at the end of the day, there was a piece of origami on every single desk. Some people had flowers, some got cranes; the lucky ones had bouncing frogs. Peter got a family of dogs in different sizes. The bust of Socrates on Neal's desk got a hat. There was a lopsided squirrel sitting on top of Hughes' computer monitor (named Satchmo the Third, Neal told him happily).

Neal fell asleep on the drive home, some small blue toy clutched in his right hand and a stack of brightly colored paper sticking out of the front pocket of his backpack where Hughes had slipped it in.

*

 

 

That night Neal drew Elizabeth a picture. She wasn't going to be home until after bedtime, and Peter said she'd be gone the next morning before Neal got up.

Carefully, using a light grey pencil because it was the best way to draw something white on a white piece of paper, he drew the lines and stairs and walls of Peter's office. He added shadows, which his art teacher said he was good at, copying exactly the way she'd shown him how to do it. On the bottom left corner he drew an old man with a big smile and surrounded him with musical notes. In the middle he drew Peter and Neal eating candy bars.

In the top corner of the page he placed an origami sun, made out of rich red paper threaded through with lines of bright gold, shining down on the people below. He titled it “The Best Day Ever.”


End file.
